A Moonlit Corridor
by moonlitfate
Summary: 'They stood there together in the empty corridor, lit only by the high moon outside, his hands gripping her upper arms, her own hands against his chest; palm first, a sort of strange embrace.' One shot. When writing this I listened to 'Agony - Acoustic Session' by Paloma Faith, I think it fits this couple really well.


Sandor ducked under the low oak door frame that separated the main hall from the cold, stone corridor ahead. He stepped forward and drew himself to his full height, already searching. Searching for her. He heard a soft sound from his left and just knew, even as he walked towards it, his steps almost silent against the stone slabs beneath his feet. Turning at the corner, his steps falter, because there she is. Stood at the open window overlooking the sprawling grounds far below; his little bird.

Her hair is loose, fiery tresses cascading down he back, reaching her tiny waist. Her dress is finer than those she has worn since her return, a gift from her mother that may have been treasured once over, but not anymore. He had seen many lords and knights pay their attention and respects to her this night at the feast as a result of the finery she wore, and the equally false smile she adorned for the sake of her family. What remains of her family. Her pale hands gripped the window ledge, small white scars rippling like rivers as her hands tightened; evidence of the abuse she suffered at the hands of her King; her betrothed. And as he looked up, he saw her face turned up towards the sky, eyes closed, her peaceful face bathed in the pale wash of moonlight. She looked so serene, so peaceful, how could she be so broken?

Sandor stepped forward slowly without sound, and continued to walk, ever so carefully, until he was peering over her shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, not yet knowing what would come out, when she beat him to it.

"The moon is so beautiful tonight, don't you agree my lord?"

He scowled, and felt the tug at the twisted flesh of his cheek, would she ever learn? Her face was still turned toward the sky, but now her eyes were open, though still not seeing. He hated that look upon her face.

"How many times must I tell you girl? I am no lord. Nor am I one of your bloody knights in shining armour." He rasped, and he felt a small pang of satisfaction at seeing her flinch. She sighed and looked down at her hands, twisting something between her fingers that had previously gone unnoticed by him.

"I am not to call you lord, nor ser, then what am I to call you?"

He smirked now, but there was no humour in his expression. "How about dog? That seems to work well for most people. Including our precious King Joffrey, long may the little shit live."

This time her head swung round, and she glared at him. Finally, he saw some fight within her.

"I will _not_ sink down to _his_ level," she hissed through clenched teeth, "You deserve more than _dog_ or _hound_." She met his eyes and held them for a time; it was a challenge, who would surrender first? He watched as she seemingly remembered herself and turned back to the outside world, chin held high, eyes gazing down. "I beg your pardon," she mumbled, once again twisting that damn handkerchief in her hands, "I spoke out of turn. I assure you it won't happen again."

The Hound laughed; a low mocking sound that he knew Sansa had come to both hate and respect all at once. He moved forward suddenly so the he was stood beside her at the window ledge and he spoke, his voice like steel against stone, "Save your pretty little songs for those who seek them little bird, I do not want your false courtesies."

He took joy in the fierce blush that rose to her cheeks whenever he called her out on her ladylike pretences, as it did now. He waited for a retort, but there was none. She just went back to gazing at the moon, a dreamy look in her eyes and a sad smile tugging at her lips. He stood beside her and watched the stars in their sky and the grassy lands far beneath the castle. And for once, they just stood there. In silent companionship; the hound and his little bird, far from prying eyes but so close to danger. Always so close.

"Old Nan once told me that wolves are at their strongest when the moon is full and at its highest." She whispered finally, and Sandor wasn't surprised to see that same sorrowful look on her face, the one she guarded so carefully from others, that only he saw. He wondered if she knew that she only showed him her true feelings, or if it was purely a subconscious decision; simply a result of being on the road with him for so long. He found he didn't know himself. She let out a small choking sob and brought one clenched fist to her mouth, pressing against her lips so hard that they began to turn a ghostly shade of white. "But I don't feel strong, I feel weak, oh so weak," she shut her eyes tight and took a deep, calming breath, "I am no wolf. I'm just a frightened little bird who flew from one cage right into another, not even realising where I was flying to."

Sandor wasn't good with emotions, he never had been. How could he possibly understand feelings if he couldn't even express them for himself, his scarred face a hideous reminder? So he nodded brusquely and said "Aye, you're right girl. You're no wolf," from the corner of his eye he saw her turn horrified eyes towards him and he turned his head to meet them, his hard eyes softening for just that instant, "Not yet." She held his gaze for a long moment, then ducked her head and gripped the ledge with her tiny hands once more.

But there was still so much more to be discussed.

"What you did today was stupid, girl."

She knew instantly what he was speaking of, he could tell by the sudden tension in her shoulders, they way she turned her head slightly away, just enough to avoid his stare.

"I don't know what you-"

"Don't lie to me!" he growled, spinning around and stepping toward her, "I promised to protect you and I will, I promise to keep you safe and I will, but how am I supposed to save you from yourself?"

"It is improper for a man to speak to a lady of such things-"

He let out a sharp bark of laughter, merciless. "I am no man, little bird, and you would do well to remember that. And if I have to stand by your side as you bathe and dress to protect you, then you can damn well depend on it, and to hell with improprieties." He had embarrassed her, he knew. Her cheeks were flushed and her knuckles white, but he couldn't stand aside and watch as she destroyed herself. He sighed, "Promise me little bird, promise me you will never try something so foolish again."

And she smiled, a smile that would haunt him till the end of his days. Just a small tug at the corner of her lips that told him that she had given up, given up on life. She moved her right hand, so surely, to rest on his right hand, which still remained on the ledge, and that one small touch burned hotter than the seven hells. Her delicate fingers gripped his hand so tightly, a last desperate act, and he watched her smile as she watched their hands entwine.

"I promise you, I shall not try it again Sandor," she whispered, and his entire being flared as she said his name, "There are other ways."

And he snapped out of his stupor, anger now boiled his blood where she had only moments before. He whipped his hand from beneath hers, felt the cold air hit his bare skin where her hand had so recently been, and gripped her upper arms in a steel grip that was sure to leave its mark, and spun her to face him head on so that he could see the startled expression on her face. And he shook her, shook her until he heard her teeth rattle.

"Seven hells girl, don't you hear yourself?" he hissed, unable to raise his voice to a shout, "Don't you know what you're saying? There are people here who care for you little bird, who would fight to the death and into the afterlife for you. Your mother, your brother, your sister-"

"And you?" she asked, a tentative smile on her face as she looked up at his own, mutilated face, with an expression of utter faith, "Do you care for me? Would you fight for me?"

They stood there together in the empty corridor, lit only by the high moon outside, his hands gripping her upper arms, her own hands against his chest; palm first, a sort of strange embrace. And this time, he was the first to look away, quickly averting his eyes towards the floor and releasing her arms, stepping quietly from her reach. Then, barely loud enough to be heard, he said "Aye girl, with my dying breath."

He didn't hear her move, but suddenly she was in front of him, and her hand was reaching for him.

"No," he whispered, his voice hoarse, "Please-"

But she didn't listen, and as her small hand pressed against the scars on his face, he took a sharp intake of breath and his hand snapped forward to grab her wrist. But she didn't stop, didn't flinch, she just waited, her smooth hand cradling his burnt cheek, and as he released her she brought her right hand up to rest against his other cheek, her hands cradling his face as if the slightest touch could break it, and he allowed his eyes to close and he breathed out slowly, carefully. He felt her fingers flutter against his skin like the wings of a bird, felt her soft skin delicately trace the shining rivers that ran through his thick flesh, and for the first time in his life he allowed himself to open, completely exposing himself to this girl who had already shown her true self to him. It felt like an age, and yet it didn't feel like enough, when she eventually pulled her hands from his face to rest on his shoulders and he slowly opened his eyes. She was still smiling, but more brightly now, and here eyes gleamed, whether from the pale moonlight or from tears he did not know, and then she rose on her tiptoes, leaned forward and kissed him, ever so softly, on the twisted flesh that she had so carefully caressed. It was barely a brush of lips against his skin, but it seared his flesh as if she had burned him. But this was one burn he didn't recoil from, _wouldn't _recoil from.

And she was gone, her graceful skirts disappearing around the corner as suddenly as if she had wings. He stood for a moment, stock still, before looking up and down the empty branches of stone, and lifted his hand to touch the spot his little bird had kissed so briefly. And then, stood in an empty corridor in an unfamiliar castle, with only the moon and the stars in the sky for company, Sandor Clegane smiled.


End file.
